Off-Road
by Haize Bidaiari
Summary: When thirst of knowledge rises in the mind of a Voyager, it will imagine a new Mountain, head towards a new direction, and leave the road that has been followed since the very first Journey. Roadless, now the question is: were they born for this? Or will they fall sistematically, because there is nothing more than what they know?
1. Prologue: Roadless

"Going towards the Mountain is overrated. What happens if you defy everything you know and try to go the opposite direction?" -An Elemental Journey Question, also the true summary for this fanfiction.

**Disclaimer**

No, Journey and the stuff it contains don't belong to me, but to thatgamecompany and Sony. Yes, all the new stuff belongs to me, but no one cares about that. What? Money? No, dear reader, I'm totally not going to make money out of this, or take profit in any way: in fact, I'm just going to spend hours and hours of my life into it for _fun._ Happy now? No? Well, the chapter is starting anyways...

* * *

The wind plays with the sand, making it spin in circles and fly over the endless orange dunes, the phantom of a life that isn't there anymore. A lonely figure walks slowly, under the silver light of a white moon, a long scarf floating behind it and an intrincated pattern of symbols shining over it's cloak.

It's bright eyes scan the nearby valleys of sand, searching for something specific. It stops atop of a huge dune, looking behind as if it feared being followed by an unknown shadow, and then grafecully slides down the other side. All silent, it may look like a ghost of a forgotten past, unable to rest, unstoppable.

Dune after dune, hour after hour, it keeps going. Sometimes it looks around, with a covered fear under the emotionless mask, but nothing moves. Even the wind has stopped, and no clouds are visible. Far away, a mountain shines, but the figure seems to go in the opposite direction... finally, it is engulfed by the sand.

At some point, the figure turns back. It feels so empty, to know the familiar light won't be there all the day anymore. Maybe the cloaked figure won't see it again. All that is ahead is a vast ocean, dust of an ancient civilization. It's not the warm home with pink sand... it's a cruel remind of what happened to the world, a wound too big to heal. If the stories are true, the only thing to find from now on is death, and monsters of a forgotten past that are the nightmare of the lost ones.

The voyager shrugs the sand of it's white cloak. She has to be strong, this is the only way... Looking the stars briefly, the whitecloak corrects the direction, heading for the south-west of the Mountain.  
During the night, the wind awakes and starts playing again with the sand, making distant and faint sounds of drums, of a pounding heart, of a gigantic beast peacefully breathing. Maybe this is the way the world lives now: sleeping, waiting for a new day to come. But that will never happen. It's a mirage of what life was, millenia ago, before the world was covered in sand and everything burned.

She remembers the stories: the Ancestors were intelligent and powerful, but they were not wise. They did not know how to control their own creations, and the World paid the price. She has often dreamed about how did it look: unseen jungles of endless Plants, unknown and bright colours painting the land, and all kinds of Birds swimming in the sky. And then, Ancestors, young and playful, using the Guardians to explore the world rather than fighting.

Deep inside her heart she feels something missing. She has made the Journey many times, shared all the tales with the other ones of her kind, met many unforgettable companions. She has even dared to go to the darkest places of the Underground Passage, where the blackcloaks hunt lost Voyagers; she has climbed to the very top of the Mountain, and then playfully jumped down to the beginning.

But that's not enough: there is something, a missing piece in that puzzle; something that doesn't feel right. Most of her people don't realize what is it, or maybe they don't have that hole in their souls. Isn't that how it is suposed to be? The Mountain is always the end, and the beginning... there's nothing more needed to feel truly happy. Or maybe there is? She doesn't know, but it's been a long time since she started wondering about it, and lately she couldn't even think straight.

She knows there is something following her, right from the moment she adventured into the true maze of the Underground Passage, even beyond the blackcloaks. They didn't dare to fight with her, maybe because they saw her motivations, maybe because she is too strong — but the last option doesn't look accurate: she knows Voyagers stronger than her have been hunted and defeated, because no one can beat a blackcloak in it's own territory. She is unsure about why they let het pass without even seeing one of them.

The truth is: she made it to the core of the place, and even if the active mechanisms still protected it, millenia after being left alone by the Ancestors, she found a secret shortcut, behind a stone door modelled by the voice of a Voyager. In fact, the First One. Something felt strange when she approached to it: their energies connected and the symbols lit up, showing her what was behind the door. The First One knew there were dangerous things after it, but he also drew in that rock one true fact: only the ones who truly dared to go that deep into the Underground Passage would get to the door. They would be prepared.

His voice, from a somewhat far past, told her not to believe anything she would see, until she got to the room she wished to visit: there was nothing true beyond that door. Misteriously, she could hear a secondary voice asking if there was anything true at all...

The loneliness of the place was calming, silent. She knew nothing would ever change it: the Ancestors made sure the most important of their buildings would last, even if they never though they wouldn't be there to use them. And she went through the door, and ever since she came back, she feels it: a subtle shadow, hiding behind the dunes or in the dark sky between the stars, never totally visible, but perceptible. The whitecloak feels hunted, and she knows she must hurry if she wants to get to her destination before it's too late.

It's been days since the whitecloak left home, but it's now, without the Mountain in sight, when she feels truly lost. It takes her another two days to get to the place with all the responses, in which starvation hits harder than ever, and the shadow comes closer, and closer, until she feels she's becoming mad. This is certainly a journey without homecoming. Briefly, she thinks about what will happen to her, away from the Mountain and everything she knows. She is scared, because death is no more a step towards a new incarnation, but a pool of pitch-black mistery and, maybe, oblivion.

But now she can't go back, and as the whitecloak sees the sun sinking ahead of her, in a distant and blurry horizon, the wind seems to push her towards the end of the undrawn road: almost shy, the plain roof of a dark grey building awaits her.

With her last energies, she hops from the top of a dune, and then dives in the air, barely touching the ground and leaving a trail in the sand, gaining more and more speed, until she heads up towards the sky and ascends, the wind blowing wildly around her body, landind safely on the roof. She feels the desire of playing for the last time: there is nothing she loves more, besides knowledge — at least, flying doesn't tend to hurt.

There are no visible entrances, but there is a huge hole on the rock. Inside, dust covers the rests of a huge Guardian, pillars, parts of the roof... and a Temple Tower, rising from the darkness, it's Sphynx watching an unknown thing forever. She looks behind for a moment, as if she hoped the Mountain will be there, but only dunes greet her gaze. Finally, she jumps in, and silently falls through the roof, touching the dusty floor with the sharp ends of her legs.

With a single voice pulse, the rocks and the dust fall from the platform, and the tombstones light up again. The whole Tower is shining. Even if it's smaller than the one near the Mountain, this one feels, somehow, more... powerful. The Confluence starts, and a white fog surrounds her. It feels safe, strange, familiar. An Ancestor greets the whitecloak, towering over her, looking akin, yet different. She knows it's just a shadow of an Ancestor; it's not real. Or at least, not real enough to be able to touch it.

At her question, the Ancestor sings one single note, and around her she can see glyphs, showing a path through strange lands, until it ends in something strange: it looks like a plant, but all of the branches are on the top, widely spreading in the sky, and the body is very long, ended with more branches that sink in the ground. She has never seen something like it.

It's the key of all the questions, the final response, though she doesn't know why... Her time is coming to an end, she can feel the shadow trying to enter into the safe bubble she's in. The Ancestor disappears, and darkness engulfs everything.

* * *

So, this was it. The very beginning of the story, featuring an unnamed and pretty much crazy whitecloak who went too far. There must be many, many questions inside your head, if you've reached this part. I'm trying not to spoil all the "funfacts" too fast, so you can try to wonder what's it all about (it's the troll vein some sadistic writers have).

I'm actually NOT sure about what the... stuff am I doing with this: it's an experimental thing. I'm not a native English, so there may be some errors here and there, but I try to do it the best I can, and (even i _totally_ says that's what I have to do) I'll welcome any kind of opinion without barking like a rabid dog. I like hearing what people think about my work.

-On the other side... a _Journey_ fanfiction with a _character_ getting **_away_** from the _Mountain_? -Yes. -Why? Are you nuts? -Maybe. The point is: we all know what's on the way of the Mountain (if you don't, go play Journey now, **spoilers** tend to **hurt**); I'm trying to build a world about what's in that wasteland surrounding it, and the weird things that live there. And trying to give an explanation for stuff. You see, it's funnier than it seems. -I still think you're nuts. -I didn't say I wasn't.

Interestingly, Journey is an experience without words, and I have to use words to write (amazing, right?), so it's kind of a challenge to try this. I want to describe things just enough so you can imagine how does stuff look, but you have to do the rest (isn't that what _all_ the narrations do? Nope! Some are extra accurate, pointing at someguy surnamed Verne or another dude surnamed Tolkien. Cool guys. But never try to read one of their books if you want a soft, fast experience with literature; it's not healthy); just like, in game, you see stuff but you have to watch to understand what is that dragonfly-like pile of rocks doing in the middle of the desert, and even then you're left to wonder the "why" stuff about it.

I'm actually considering about using dialogue... or maybe, just non-direct dialogue, like I did back there. I'm not sure. I don't know anymore!

**Featuring** a shadow, which should not be mistaken with The Shadow from Amnesia: The Dark Descent, or any other kind of shadow. No, yours not, either. It's a special shadow: it prefers cloaked figures with pointy feet, so don't worry, the things you see are in your imagination, except that fat, ugly spider who is about to rip your face off.

Enjoy it if you can.


	2. Chapter 1: Whirlwind

**Disclaimer**

Journey still doesn't belong to me, try again later.

* * *

A pounding heart, through the waterlike atmosphere. An undying soul, artificial life flowing through the ancient machinery. And then, a shadow, rising from the dust, awaken by the mere presence of a foreigner in this world of perpetual darkness.

This is the home of the nightmares, of the forgotten dreams, of the lost souls. It is the greatest creation of the Ancestors, and the last one. Light has never touched the dusty rocks, and the sun will never touch the sand with its rays. In this land of none, the hunt starts, a battle older than the stars that hang in the sky to guard the moon.

Clouds of sand float in the air, as a red blurry figure darts past one of the many passages, wind of a sandstorm incarnate, the whirlwind symbols of its cloak glowing. Behind, the graceless mirror of a bird, the single eye of its face gleaming violet, pursuing the intruder, the prey... the redcloak. This is no place for living things.

No more it's time of a blue sky with golden clouds, lit on fire at dawn and twilight, surrowed by Birds and Ancestors, energy flowing from the heart of the World, life bursting in explosions of vibrant colors, from the smallest things, into the deepest jungles. The Guardian doesn't know, the Guardian doesn't think or feel... the Guardian follows orders, programmed by its forgotten creators a long time ago. Catch Cloth, they say. And so it does, even if there will be no one to use it now.

The prey is fast, however. It knows how to move, and it doesn't waste the precious energy stored in the scarf; every jump is calculated with an unbeliable skil, every second in the air serves for one single purpose: reaching the light again. The redcloak doesn't look behind, because a single moment of doubt could mean an error, and that would be the end of the race. He knows, but fear is not an option.

Soon, he reaches the exit: the strong light of the sun, the warm air of the desert, the hot pink sand over his fast feet... Home. The wind sounds different, the air vibrant and saturated. There is a strange aura of something magnificent, surrounding each one of the blue and grey buildings around him; when the World was still alive, they were painted with all the colors one can imagine, covered with Cloth and Plants, the pride of the Ancestors. But now the Ancestors are gone, and their work is reduced to mere, dead rocks.

His scarf has now lost all of the symbols drawn in it, and as he lands, his speed decreases greatly. He stands still, the wind playfully making his cloth dance in the air, surrounded by the floating sand. He watches the entrance, silently, as the great beast emerges from the world of darkness, searching only for him, focusing its purple eye on the ground.

Inside the mirage dragon, a loud noise indicates that the prey has been found, and the eye turns red. It is an eagle, and will not faiL. Ancestors seeked perfection, and applied it to the great creature, which now crashes on the ground, the light fading away forever from its head, and the sand creating a dense cloud of dust. The dead body of the creature slides, stopping at the feet of the redcloak. Was it ever alive? Was this the fault of the machine, to be programmed by the Ancestors, following orders even when they were long gone?

A miriad of colourful, small cloth escape from the storage containers of the creature, surrounding the redcloak for a brief moment, and gratefully recharging his scarf before flying away.

A second figure emerges from the vanishing cloud: the borders of the blue cloak are torn, and the sand covers the almost invisible drawings painted with dark blue, a vague painting of buildings and tombs. The one who put an end to the life of the machine. They look at each other and chirp softly, congratulating their ability. Away, in the horizon, the Mountain shines, while the sun nears the end of its journey through the sky. It is time for them to find shelter, before the ghosts of the desert wake up.

The wind seems to calm down, and the sand lays again on the ground. The two figures walk together, the silent city guarding them, the memories of the Ancestors forever hanging on the walls of their buildings. How many stories were lived there? How many dreams were born and destroyed?

The bluecloak sings; he can feel, after carefully watching his companion, how his mind seems to drift away, his awkward movement. And, of course, the scare provoked by the sudden sound of his voice, breaking the silence with a blast of energy. The redcloak shares his thoughts: there are many questions fluttering in his mind. Too many, to carry their weight alone.

His companion laughs, with his peculiar series of short chirps: how many stupid things he's being asked! One does not defeat a Guardian and thinks about if it was innocent or really deserved that fate. Who cares about the Ancestors? They are now dead, and all that matters is living the today, not the past. Past is gone, and nothing will ever make it come back. Even worse: a lot of the things that still remain from that far away time seem to want to destroy things, including them.

As both of them fly and climb over the buildings, towards their night shelter, the questions rise again, but the redcloak hides them carefully: his friend won't understand. The stars begin to fill the sky. The bright green turns into deep blue, and something inside him seems to be shaking, his heart flooded with a strange and nostalgic feeling.

He feels there is something important he is forgetting, but he can't remember what is it. Under his eyes, the city seems to become alive. For a moment, he can see it in its glory days, hear the Ancestors and strange bells ringing in the distance. A single breeze of air takes away the image, and his symbols glow faintly as a red cloth comes flying and seeks for refuge, playing around with his scarf, a tickling all around his body.

He sits, watching the darker and darker world. Finally, the bluecloak calls him from the deeps of the high building, to meditate during the night, and he decides to let his problems rest with him until the new day. In the end, it is well said that "no light, no way".

* * *

So, a week after the first chapter, goes he second one. This is more like _another _indroduction to the story, brief and (hopefully) not hard to read. I didn't felt like I liked this one as much as the other one, but hey, it's not (hopefully; I know there are people in this world that will very probably not like this) totally "bad".

Yes, I write "drawing in": it's just because the Voyagers and Ancestors draw "in" things (just like chemical stuff, but with magic-stuff instead), allowing them to store energy. If a similar energy source "triggers" them (singing, approaching the thing), they reflect the energy, which may be messages like "I was here" or "Don't turn around" or whole, megacomplex stories (aka most of the Confluences in this world). Yes, Voyagers have genders, but that will be explained later *insert cute smiling face hiding a huge trollface from the author*.

Questions are free; even if I try to hide funfacts, maybe I'm just not being clear enough about something I'm trying to make obvious, so asking is the way to make me know about how well am I doing that. On purpose, point errors without doubt! If I gather enough of them in one chapter, I'll reupload it.

**Response time! **_(featuring: an unexpected review and more free shadows!)_

_-WritingMagic_: I'm glad I've achieved what I was trying to do, and also caught your atention. I hope this chapter is not too much worse for you than the other, seeing you liked it. Shadowy shadows are strange, aren't they? I'm with you hoping the whitecloak is well. Thank you very much for spending some of your time in a review, it always wakes up the cuddly creature every writer has in their heart.


	3. Chapter 2: Greycloak

**Disclaimer**

Let me check... hmm, no, Journey still belongs to thatgamecompany and Sony (got that clear? It doesn't belong to me). And I'm not more rich because of writing this story (economically wise), so it seems like I'm not making money from this.

* * *

Watch. Watch how the sun rises, how light comes to the world. For a brief moment, you can see the exact point between the calm night and the bright day. The stars shine, the horizon explodes in a wave of color, and everything is silent.

Sleep. This will be your last day. Sleep. Time is for you to go. I can understand your words, your questions, your fear. But I cannot response... is it my fault? I am sorry... for you, because you will die with the only company of a shadow. Is it my error, to be unable to save your life? Let the light fade from your eyes, let your soul go up with the Sun, wind wings taking you up, up, until you are part of the cold darkness of the sky.

No. Never think it was an error. There are no errors in this world; there are chances, there are paths and ways, and decisions. Some take us to things we like, love; some take us to things you hate; some... took you to me, your death. Don't regret your decisions, because then you are rejecting yourself, your life, and everything you are. You've been dying every second of your life, why is it different now?

Please, don't cry. It is too late, and you are too young, and we both know there is no solution for this. Sleep... Let the void embrace you, let it take you away and transform your soul into something new. Don't fear: this is not the end. It's the beginning. I am your shadow, I am the response to your questions, I am the new Mountain you were trying to reach. Now, we are one.

The perfect balance.

* * *

The soft voice vanishes, and a figure stands up in the middle of the sandstorm, silent. It sings one sole note; a wave of energy destroying the nearby dunes, pushing the sand away. The warm light of the Sun sets fire to the particles floating in the air, softly falling down to the ground again.

The creature looks around: the ruins of a magnificent building lay scattered around, the ancient Sphynx still standing before the cloaked wanderer. The glimmer on its surface fades away as the Voyager jumps out of the hole where the Temple Tower was a few seconds ago.

After looking directly at the sun for a moment, the creature looks its own body: where there was a snow-white cloak, now there is a strange grey color. The embroidery is still golden, but it seems less bright. It feels strange; calm, strangely peaceful and even scary: there is no shadow. But, too, there is no whitecloak. Was the monster saying the truth? Is this the... perfect balance?

Because it doesn't feel perfect at all. It isn't empty, but it isn't full. Or maybe it's both at the same time. It is knowledge and doubts, reality and dreams, life and death... light and shadow. Prize and price for achieving the goal she seeked.

However, maybe because there is still a soul inside her body, a fire is reborn from its ashes, and a phoenix opens its wings and flies through her mind: there is one response answered, a very important one, and that alone reminds her of the sole purpose of the journey: finding the Water Orb, the most important creation of the Ancestors, inside the strange plant seen in her Confluence. Without her noticing, the symbols over her body shine faintly.

Using the sun as a reference (it always seems to go in circles around the Mountain), she heads back for home. Strangely enough, there is no hunger now, even if she was almost dead when she finally reached the Temple Tower. This new energy within her allows the former whitecloak to fly without stopping, using the skill she still has to rush through the dunes, touch them and leave trails in the sand.

It is devastating, to see from above the size of the wasteland. It is empty: only dunes and more dunes, until her eyes reach a blurry horizon. Sometimes, there are strange mountains of rock and she would say some other things unrecognizable.

She is happy that hundreds of years going to the top of the Mountain and back have given the Voyagers a good sense of orientation. She had no real problems to find the sunken building, even if it was farther than anything ever reached by anyone of her kind: it will be no problem to head back.

During the fly, however, a voice seems to rise from the back of her mind: soft, calm, just like a brief wind that may have been an illusion. The shadow. It tells her: the more she has these emotions, these old remainds of what she has been in the past, the more they get separated. "At least you have someone to chat with" says the voice, seeming amused.

Finally, she engages dialogue with the unknown creature: it confirms to be "someone", but doesn't say who. It isn't just one of the monsters she had to fight or run away from, during her long journey; it is a Voyager. However, it refuses to give her any other response, accusing her of rushing too much with everything. "I must admit it took me a while to catch you", and both of them fall silent: there is no response she wants to give to that.

Because now she doesn't have to walk in order to save energy, the journey back is incredibly short: after two days, the Mountain rises between the dunes. It is more than returning back to home, to an old friend: it is turning back to her own essence. Even with the shadow corrupting it, there is something inside her that seems to be shaking without control, right where her heart is.

She heads back to the small group of Voyagers where she spent the last months: most of them are whitecloaks that didn't have the courage to go with her, even if they had gone very deep in the passages under the Great City of the are redcloaks who love flying, even if it's more challenging for them to achieve what the whitecloaks can do. They have to know about what is beyond the desert.

In the distance, she can see white and red dots darting towards the sun at high speed, long scarves behind them, playing in the air with powerful notes. She knows what are they doing: using the wind as their help, they can go higher than anyone, and faster. The thing is trying to keep eachother in the air, sharing their energy.  
However, the shadow speaks before she can reach them. "Look at yourself" it says.

For once, the voice seems, ironically, dark. She does: traces of grey are mixed with black and white, all over her body. It looks like a mess of color, changing, making the color of the embroidery change: more black and white, golden, silver...

Scared, she loses concentration and almost crashes into a dune. The only response to her silent question is "unbalance". As she watches her cloak becoming black, with white symbols covering her, she feels dizzy. Everything seems now distant, like than if it was happening to someone else. Her own body doesn't response to her: with a skill she didn't think she had, she can just watch as the vision of her loved ones fades away and her own body turns away from the Mountain again.

* * *

I just don't like hurrying up with stories. I've done that before, and it usually makes them worse. Yeah, hearing voices in your head isn't considered being mad in this world.

On the other hand, I'm finally making some progress (plot wise). The only dialogue we'll see, by now, is the one from the shadow, since it isn't like the voice of the Voyagers. I'm just going to throw this in: if you have noticed it, I'm not using concrete names. It's just because, in this fan-world, the names of the Voyagers aren't actually names their parents gave to them, so most of them end up using adjectives for qualities instead of nouns.

Just an example: if one of them really liked to chirp constantly, their name would probably have to do something with that quality, because it defines them (something along the lines of "really annoying dude", or "melody", or "river"). I don't even know why am I pointing this out but... well, you can figure out the names of the few characters seen until now, if you're that bored. I'd also like if you point out errors (I've already gathered some in the prologue that are really stupid errors I didn't notice).

Enjoy this if you can (featuring: a speaking shadow. It's too late to run away now!).


	4. Chapter 3: Lux aeterna

Disclaimer: read previous disclaimer for more information.

* * *

Nightmare. It is time for you to discover the war: the destruction, the chaos, and the strange feeling of no light at the end of the snowstorm. You will know why the creatures you call 'blackcloaks' become insane, forget their life and their loved ones, and lose their Voice. You've heard them sing, and you know how broken they sound.

The Voice is a reflection of the soul, the energy that powers the world. Everything has a Voice: the Voyagers, the sand, the wind, the stars. You may not be able to hear it clearly, but it's there. Blackcloaks, however...

Imagine a pond. It's calm, reflecting the sky with its clear water, a mirror of the deepest dreams. Hear it sing. Imagine an avalanche of ideas, dreams, fears, which starts covering it all. It is the weight of reality. There will be an end, and silence, and a broken soul. Where is balance? Where is its Voice?

Something new, however, will emerge... fire. World eater, unstable, changing everything it touches forever, leaving scars impossible to heal. There will be a memory of the water. A fight between the two essences. A song of destruction that will leave a cloud of dark ashes. They aren't fire, but neither water. They have the remains of the Voice of both, but they aren't complete. Blackcloaks.

Yes... you aren't one of them. But you can feel the fight between your soul and mine. You can consider that is mostly my fault. But I was only the spark that lit you on fire. You were seeking for this. Do you know why did I hunt you down, leaving my place of eternal rest? I've been waiting for millenia. Waiting for you.

I felt the changes inside you. You are special, because you outsped the other creatures of your kind. You were alone. Do you think you're the first one? No... But fire is weak, you're a grain of sand in the middle of a water desert. You understand what I mean, don't try to think it's a lie. I know you aren't that kind of creature. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.

I'm your guardian. I'm protecting your flame. Blackcloaks are the ashes, and they are feared and neutralized. You are fire incarnate, they would feel what is happening inside you, even if they don't know what is it. Imagine what would happen if they discovered it, a true danger instead of the remains of the fight.

Welcome to the nightmare. You are the wind of change, and I am your wings. You know what you hae to do.

Wake up.

* * *

The silver smile of the moon paints the surface of the black rock, a mirror reflecting the sky. The whole city seems to be made of light. It is just a mirage, a memory of the power of the Ancestors. Alongside it rests the Guardian. Another remain of a golden era of life and water.

The story is simple: one day, they took the rock out of the deepest mines, under the Mountain. The hardest one, dark blue. An undrawn crystal, too, modelled carefully to act as a mimic of the soul. The symbols, carefully made all over the body. The machine that survived eons, only to be destroyed in a second.

The remains lay scattered around the area. Here, a wing. There, part of the tail. And, in front of the broken crystal, a dark shadow. There is only the sound of the wind, the sand dancing with its invisible song, the long black scarf floating behind the creature. There is no light in its eyes, no embroidery on its cloak.

He feels weak. All of his energy is now on the crystal, which seems to shine with a light of a thousand colours. A small piece of cloth, bright red, flies around. It doesn't seem to care about the proximity of the blackcloak, and instead plays with the dust of the floor, drawing strange symbols on it.

It's an untold story, the silence carrying it between the remains of the Guardian and the creature sitting beside it, still as a rock, invisible. They both seem to be from another world, without moons or stars. Without light. And then, slowly, the shrieking sound of the creature's Voice.

At first, unstable. Then, slowly, becoming something like a lullaby. All broken, sounding out of place and time. Something that shouldn't exist. As the bluecloak watches, she can feel, briefly, a glimpse of an emotion. It strikes her, even from that distance, deep down her soul. She is alone, silently watching the scene from behind a building.

Master redcloak is in a deep meditation. But she couldn't ignore it. The call of the sky. There is something that makes her shiver, when she lets her gaze get lost in the field of stars. Her cloak mirrors the spectacle of the night light. Master doesn't seem to understand it, and neither does she.

But she doesn't question the feeling, and despite his warnings and "talks" about not going outside at night, she does it everytime she has the chance. The sky guardian, with his cloak brighter than hers, has let her go out a few times. There seems to be an aura of understanding between them both.

The elders took her as her apprentice short after she showed her abilities for dodging Guardians. They were surprised to find the young bluecloak almost playing with one. They say they're only protecting her and that they learn from each other, but she annoys them calling them "masters". However, none of them is awake now.

She returns her thoughts to the mourning creature, and the incoming river of a strange energy that shakes her to the core. It's too similar to the one she feels when she looks at the stars. How could a blackcloak emit anything like it? It's beyond her.

There is no time, no feeling of time passing, as the notes conquer the air and travel through the city with the wind. There is no energy pulse, no light coming from the blackcloak. Just the broken sound of his soul, and the crystal changing its colour as a response.

However, the moment doesn't last. He seems to be singing in a quieter tone, until it's just a whisper, and finally there is only the echo of his song. She seems hypnotized by the strange image, that she doesn't notice the creature behind her, until it dashes past her and flies straight towards the blackcloak.

She freezes, as the Carpet hovers over the silent creature, around it, apparently unaware of the danger. After all, it's a predator. Maybe he doesn't attack because the Carpet itself seems corrupted: half of it seems to be black, and one of its tails is broken.

The tiny red piece of cloth seems to recognize it, and pursues the Carpet, acting as the missing piece of its tail. She feels relief for a moment, and keeps watching the scene. But there is something in the air, something cold and deadly, as the blackcloak seems to react to his surroundings for the first time. After looking at the Carpet, that chirps cheerfully, pushing fearlessly his scarf.

And their gazes meet when, with a sudden move, he turns his white face towards her. There is no word to describe the pure terror that these eyes cause in her, and she panicks, unable to move. But everything she expects doesn't happen. The blackcloak tips his head aside, probably analyzing how long will it take for him to reach her. She tries to hide, barely making her legs move, but strangely enough all he does is look again to the crystal.

Instead of running away, she seems to be stuck in her place. Because, as if nothing had happened, the creature seems to be trying to sing again. She knows how the body of a Voyager moves when they sing, and the blackcloak seems to follow the same movements. But there is no sound.

The bluecloak watches him start to shake, too weak to stay still. Despite the apparent attempts of the Carpet to give him energy, it's not enough. When she notices it, she finds herself walking towards the pair, avoiding the remains of the fallen Guardian. The rock seems to have a meaning now. Not to her, but to the blackcloak.

There is something powerful pulling the strings of space and time, moving her legs in a moment stuck in time. The words of the masters come to her mind. About the lies the blackcloaks can create, about their mental powers that make true the worst illusions, about what they can do to their prey.

But then there are the stars, mute and distant, over them. She has discovered the reason of her shock, when she heard him sing: the sky light is the same for both of them. She can only see someone exhausted and mourning a death, and for some reason she feels there is no blackcloak that can mimic that.

Finally, it's the crystal between them both. He doesn't look at her. His eyes are trapped in the dancing lights of the crystal, which seems to be a fallen star. The bluecloak feels the cold air around the black creature, giving her the temptation to run away, but her next move seems to surprise them both.

She sings. Carefully, knowing how much it can harm a creature like the blackcloak, her soft voice saying what he can't, watching how the lights in the crystal seem to form clouds with strange shapes.

Two Voyagers, young and playful, through the green sky. A little and bright Carpet, cheerful, swimming through the sand as if it was made of water. Two redcloaks, alone and scared, attacked by a Guardian. One of them, being swallowed alive by the giant machine, the other losing the colour of its cloak after trying to protect his friend. The Carpet, hit by the Guardian, after trying to protect the remaining Voyager. The eye of the machine, shining red, playing with the blackcloak and the wounded Carpet.

The Guardian seems to fly happily inside the crystal, a dark figure following it through a world of rainbow sand and perpetual darkness. She notices the cloud of small cloth that seems to be dancing around them, their colours matching the ones of the images in the crystal.

Her notes seem to follow their rhythm, until the figures fade away in the middle of a black smoke and she falls silent. Before they can notice it, the cloud of cloth is gone. Both of them let their eyes break away from the crystal, and their gazes meet. She notices he's standing now, a bit taller than her. His cloak is shining, covered by little stars that seem to have all the colours devisable. However, his eyes remain black, piercing through her own.

The realisation of the little to non-existant distance between them manages to send an alarm of fear through her. Excellent. Way to fight a blackcloak, she thinks, hoping it won't be too painful. She has fallen for it like a newborn Voyager.

A step backwards, but all the blackcloak does is tilting his head again, still staring at her. Maybe, if she sings loud enough, she can win some time for the masters to come. But she can feel that he's too powerful now, it will not work. His next move is looking at his own cloak. He seems so surprised by his new aspect, his gaze trapped in the bright stars.

Then he looks around: first, the buildings; then, towards the sky. Finally, back at her. He repeats the moves of his head. Deciding she's just dead and it doesn't matter what to do now, she follows his gaze. Apparently, he was trying to say something simple, yet astounding. There is no difference now, between his cloak and the sky. And hew own, almost black within the darkness, seems to fit the picture they form.

The Carpet lies on the ground, the wind sleeps. The silence is absolute. Again, their eyes meet. There seems to be a moment without time or space. It's just the stars and two creatures realising too many things to express them all. It doesn't matter, because they wouldn't understand each other. Their Voices are too different.

Then, someone sings in the distant. The redcloak master, frantically yelling. How much time has she been outside? She looks towards the direction of their refuge, lost amongst many other buildings, and back to the blackcloak. But there is no one there, and the Carpet is gone. The crystal seems to reflect the light of the stars, and the wind carries now the scraps of the lost silence.

She turns around, heading to the refuge. She's sure there will be a nice "talk" about dangerous nights for her as soon as she arrives home.

Left alone, the crystal shines once more, and a figure dressed of grey approaches to it quietly.

In the eyes of the greycloak shines a strange light: fiery resolution.

* * *

First of it all: I've been thinking about how to write this down since... well, almost a month now. The first part was written a long time ago, but somehow I didn't manage to write the second one, where the stories of the redcloak and the two bluecloaks converge with the one of the greycloak. But something didn't seem to fit in my head (it all was about a fight), and I didn't seem to be able to solve the problem. As a revenge, it's a sort-of-long chapter.

Finally, I tried something different and discovered this was what I was looking for. The thing about genders really needs an explanation, since I'm guessing the meeting of the bluecloak and the blackcloak looks totally like one of the cheap romances between the good girl and the bad boy. Oh my... Don't even dare to think that. In my mind, these were the genders fitting for them, for reasons I'll explain in the future. I'd seriously describe Voyagers as "it" if it wasn't for the mindf**k it causes. I've tested it with previous written stuff.

The title, "Lux aeterna", means "eternal light". There is a soundtrack of the same name, mostly known for the film's name, that many people have heard at least once, even if they don't know from where does it come. Because using words in other languages is cool (and I think it fits the whole thing about people not being able to understand each other with words, but through the meaning of their gestures and with the something common in us all that never dies). These two words should show very well the meaning of this chapter.

**Response time!** (featuring: _an amazed author by the presence of a review_)

-_WritingMagic_: Thanks you A LOT for your _protips_. Seriously. I've reworked my way of writing thanks to your review. I noticed I was writing in "spanish style", meaning I put in a lot of subordinated stuff that just messes up with the way English is usually written. Again, it's one thing I wasn't noticing at all, and making it complicated didn't make it better. Since I had never used quotation marks before, I didn't know how to put them correctly. I'll rewrite the previous chapters in the future. I hope I have given you some responses with this chapter (and no, it doesn't mean I made it especifically for it). I'm so frustrated about not being able to draw some of the scenes, but that leaves it to reader's imagination. Plus... have you ever seen someone able to put the whole beauty of the sky in a cloak?

That was it! I'll probably upload more stuff next Saturday.

Enjoy it if you can.


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